


Trapped

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Dreamsharing, Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Season 3, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: When Tim is kidnapped by the remnants of the People's Church, Jon might be his only chance at rescue. And however much Tim hates that, he finds he can't quite turn away from the eyes of the Archivist.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	Trapped

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shoulder_Devil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoulder_Devil/gifts).



Tim wasn’t stupid. When he’d seen the water, smelled how brackish it was, he’d known it was time to leave. Whatever this warehouse was, it didn’t have a damn thing to do with the Stranger. The cop had given him bad info, which meant at best this was a dead end, and at worst, a trap waiting to be sprung.

Problem with traps was that it was easier to get in them than getting out, and seeing a pool of murder water was almost certainly very much inside. It was enough to make him laugh bitterly, when he turned to see two dark robed figures blocking the door he’d come in.

“Clean-up on aisle five.” Tim jerked a thumb back at the water.

He didn’t have a chance to do much else before hands gripped his shoulders, and plunged him in the water.

It would’ve been better, if everything had truly gone dark.

*

They kept him blindfolded, which he supposed only made sense. After all, eyes were sort of Elias’s thing, weren’t they? And they wouldn’t want him peering into the rancid depths of their little plot.

Hunched in the corner of his cell, soaked and bounded hand and foot on his knees, he managed a twisted little smile, thinking of it. Clearly desperate, if they thought any of this would work. And stupid enough not to realize how much of a long shot it was. Honestly, if the tall one hadn’t decided to gloat, Tim might not have realized how pointless this whole thing was.

Apparently, they wanted to make him into some sort of sleeper agent, or maybe their new messiah. A bit fuzzy on that, with the short one clearly of the opinion the latter was impossible. Or at least that Tim wasn’t worthy to be filled with their beloved Rayner’s true essence. Which, thank fuck for that. The tall one didn’t seem inclined to argue in front of him, but was happy to proclaim how impossible it was for the Eye to see him here. They’d taken precautions, made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

“Again?” Tim croaked out. They never bothered to gag him. Interfered with their spooky water torture or something. Or maybe they just liked the sound of screaming, who knew with spooky bastard cultists. “So what, the boss sniffed you out before?”

The short one stiffened, frantically tugging on the tall one’s sleeve. But the tall one was an idiot, and Tim was glad of that.

“Your pathetic Institute head somehow saw through our master’s protections at a critical moment. An oversight, caused by weak links in the Church. Ones we have corrected.”

“Ah,” Tim said as the information clicked. “Elias called the police on you. That’s just kind of sad. Didn’t even have to do the dirty work himself.”

The blow to his cheek was barely a surprise, and the sting of pain when it tore open a cut was almost welcome. Another followed, along with a kick to his stomach, making Tim curl into himself as best he could. Only for a moment, before he was hauled to his feet.

“I like you better underwater,” the short one hissed into his ear.

Tim didn’t get a chance to disagree.

*

Tim stared at the wall, leaning forward to trace a deep crack with his finger. The stone was sharper than he’d thought; he hissed as it bit down, and began to drink his blood. Some part of him screamed to pull away, to curl back in the safe dark corner. But there was no safety here. And maybe if the blood was gone…maybe then he’d wake up.

The thought shook him, and he shook himself as the stone engulfed his finger. Except no, it wasn’t stone. Too way, too cold and flowing as it wrapped itself around his finger, and flowed up over his arm. He let out a yelp of pain as the ice sharps wormed their way inside the cut. Another mistake. It left his mouth open for the dark water to flow inside, down his throat, unlike there was nothing left to breathe but the water, and he wasn’t—he couldn’t—

He opened his eyes.

The water was gone, though throbbing black lines still followed the paths of the blood vessels in his arm. This time, he did manage to stumble to his feet, not to the safe lie of that corner, but to the bars of his cell. Rusted away by the water; they should’ve thought of that before trapping him with metal.

He kicked, and barely noticed the pain of the metal cutting into his leg. Could you get tetanus in a dream? He supposed it didn’t really matter, did it? He died of something so mundane, he’d die laughing. And he didn’t think his lord and master would let him have that.

The sickening thought was enough to draw his gaze up, but there was nothing there. Just more stone, pitted and gouged with age, like they’d stashed him in some sort of medieval dungeon. Or at least that was what his fevered mind had supplied. Didn’t matter. Only way out was up. And up, and up—

He climbed forever, and for only a moment, to find himself in a familiar courtyard. Or maybe unfamiliar. Did it have a courtyard, or had scrambled memories given it one, needing to supply him with that glimpse of the sky. A sky that remained cloudy.

At the door, he hesitated. The metal of the hand was chill, ice crawling up his hand, mingling with the water running chill through his veins. He could stay here. Couldn’t he? Hiding and hidden, cold and miserable. Maybe it was better that way.

But no. No, even if he couldn’t quite remember why anymore, he had to get out of here.

The door was ripped from its frame, and on the other side, Tim found a sight that brought him to a halt again. An examining room, a man clutching a slowly pulsing heart. And across from him, exactly the person Tim had hoped for, and dreaded.

The Archivist.

Another name, a familiar name that Tim scrambled for and lost just as quickly. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that he reached him, and then—he didn’t know. Just that it felt right. Better than clinging to his lonely corner.

And it didn’t look like he’d have a choice anyway. Because the Archivist had turned his eyes—so many, many eyes, burning into Tim’s skin. No, no, that wasn’t right.

“Look,” the Archivist said.

Tim looked down at his arms, and the black lines curved and wiggled and arched until they formed a picture Tim knew and wanted and feared.

“You did this,” Tim said.

“I’ll find you,” the Archivist agreed.

*

Time flowed strangely, in the dark. He was pretty sure they were underground. Maybe in something built by Smirke, buried under London. Hopefully somewhere the others might think to check, if they were even looking. But he tried not to think about that.

Tried to run over every short snapped conversation, the strange looks he avoided. He didn’t know them, and they didn’t know him. And he didn’t know—were they even them? A cop had sold him out, and Basira had been a cop. Daisy still was. Maybe Melanie was in on it, too. His gut told him Martin wasn’t, but his gut had been wrong before. He hadn’t even known he’d lost his best friend, right up until he’d had the truth given to him, just another terrible piece of the messed up puzzle slotting into place.

He let his head rest against the grimy wall, and drifted. Elias thought he was a liability. No way would he bother trying to get Tim back, at least not until after the Unknowing. And even then, maybe he’d be happy to write him off. Rogue element that he was, of little use to his precious Institute now.

And that left Jon.

Could he see Tim? Did he _know_? Would he still care?

His gaze drifted to his arms. Bare, of course they were, smeared only with the muck of his cell. But why did that seem wrong? He shook his head, lips twisted into a bitter smile. Another weird dream, that was it, wasn’t it. Clinging to half-remembered fragments. Was he really still hoping that whatever Jon was, he might care enough to come to Tim? To do anything, when he never had before? Whether it was lingering sentimentality, or maybe just his pigheaded belief he was the center of everything…well, Tim wasn’t going to put money on it really being about him.

Maybe once, they’d been something close to friends, arguing about Smirke. Jon letting his pranks slide, grumbling to Sasha even though Tim had caught him smiling earlier. But that had been ground to dust in the wake of Prentiss, and months of suspicious looks, stalking and distrust and the slow realization how trapped they were. Leaving Tim with no one and nothing but the ever watchful Eye, and his own burning need for revenge.

His breathing slowed, and his last thought as he slipped into dreams was that maybe Jon would still help him get that. It was the least he could do, after all.

*

It only made sense he dreamed of Jon. His only hope, bitter as the thought was to swallow. And here in darkness, maybe it also made sense that he found himself wandering to a terrible light.

Tunnels upon tunnels, ones he’d run through before in a haze. But the walls were no longer stone, instead covered in countless unblinking eyes. He dashed around a corner, and found himself in a room. Mostly cloaked in darkness, but at the center—a tower. Up the steps, he knew somehow, that he’d find Jon. That finding him was his only hope.

He ascended with a thought, but the room was empty. He drifted to the window and—there. Traveling a winding path, marked by horrors that crested and receded. His fingers gripped the tower window, and he readied himself to jump. He just hoped this was one of those dreams where he could fly.

It wasn’t. His leg cracked as he hit the ground, his scream of pain drowned out by the scream of a man slowly being covered in ants, until he was too muffled to scream anymore. But it was still enough to get Jon’s attention, for his staring eyes to fasten on Tim. Walking slowly towards him as Tim panted with pain, still managing to look up and meet those terrible, wonderful eyes.

Looking into them felt more right, more whole than he had in—he didn’t know, did he? However long he’d been held captive. The longing was enough for him to reach out, and to his surprise, Jon knelt beside him, his brow furrowing in confusion. Even as he reached out a hand to gently cradle Tim’s cheek.

“Where are you?”

Tim tried to answer, needed to answer, the sharpness of it buzzing across his skin. But he couldn’t speak, and after a moment, Jon nodded. Understanding all that Tim hadn’t said, all the things Tim didn’t know. A conduit for him. It was always about Jon, in the end.

“I’ll come,” Jon said. Then he did something stranger than any of this, the cursed dreams and the horrible parade of horrors that still surrounded them.

He kissed Tim. And strangest of all, it felt like Jon. What Tim would’ve imagined, lips chapped and too soft and awkward in every way, even as his grip tightened on Tim’s cheek.

“You belong with me.”

Tim woke, and wondered if that was what he’d truly meant to say.

*

The tall one was shouting, a sound cut short by a voice Tim recognized. Tim didn’t bother to hide his smile, even as a familiar terror flowed over his skin. The dream hadn’t been a dream. Or at least not only one. Jon had found him, pulled the same damn trick as Elias. And now all he had to do was wait. To be dragged out of the terrible embrace of one monstrous organization, and into the arms of another.

And yet when his cell door opened, it wasn’t only fear that made his heart pound faster. That made his head jerk up, seeking the gaze he could feel, like a flower seeking the sun.

“Are you alright? I came as soon as I could, finding this place is harder than you might think, but well…” He snorted, and began to tug at Tim’s bonds, freeing him with surprising ease. “I know things. Like it or not, that sometimes is a good thing.”

Their positions were like the dream, Tim realized. His eyes lifted to Jon’s eyes. Normal eyes, almost. Even as he reached out in a mirror of that movement, cradling Tim’s cheek.

He licked his lips, and leaned closer. “I don’t know why—” His eyes slipped shut for a moment, and he shivered. “It feels right.”

Tim wanted to disagree. Wanted to pull back. 

Wanted to look away from those eyes staring out of him.


End file.
